


Holding On To You

by dragonlisette



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Changing Dynamics, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonlisette/pseuds/dragonlisette
Summary: Phil wishes he knew Dan better, completely and totally, because they’ve only been friends for two years and that’s by far long enough to love Dan and be worried about him, but it’s not enough to recognize all the demons.





	Holding On To You

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on tumblr.](http://cityofphanchester.tumblr.com/post/114550934495/holding-on-to-you)

The silence has stretched out for over a minute, and Phil lets the tension in his jaw relax. Over. Finally. He lets the bed creak as he stands, a warning that he’s coming, but it’s echoed by a creak in the floorboards in the room over, and Dan’s pacing again. **  
**

“You don’t care about me,”

His voice is loud and brittle, and Phil winces. Not over. The walls are too thin and he wishes Dan would whisper.

“No – Dad, that’s not the definition of looking out for me. It’s my life and my decision – you’re not in control of me anymore, I am, I’ve made my choice.”

Dan’s voice is a second away from breaking, and Phil leans his head on the wall and mentally pleads with Dan to just hang up. An hour, Dan, it’s been an hour. And maybe one or both of them realizes the time, because it’s midnight, and there are bitter goodbyes and Phil hears Dan throw his phone across the room with a muffled sob. Probably a good time to intervene. A ten-second pause to let Dan catch his breath, and then he’s knocking on Dan’s door.

“ _I hate him, Phil!_ ”

The words are screamed through the closed door, and Dan never screams. Phil opens the door, slowly, carefully, and Dan’s standing in the center of the room, red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands. “I hate him.” he says again, and lets Phil hug him. He’s shaking so badly under Phil’s cautious arms, every muscle pulled tense as a bowstring, and Phil wonders what set this phone call apart.

“What’d he say?” Phil tries, letting go of Dan because he’s so unresponsive to the embrace. Dan shakes his head; Phil crosses the room to pick up Dan’s phone. The corner is dented from hitting the wall, but miraculously the screen isn’t shattered.

“Normal stuff. Why’d you quit uni. You could have been successful. You’re wasting your time.” His voice shakes, and then he’s stumbling through an avalanche of high-pitched, panicked fury, faster and faster until he can’t keep up. “I’m just trying to take care of you, Dan – no, no, you’re not, it’s my life and you’re not in control of it. I’m in complete control of what I want to do, Phil. Aren’t I?”

“Of course.” Phil says, dropping the phone on the bed, and wondering if he should try hugging him again. The first tear blossoms, clings to Dan’s eyelashes, slides down his face.

“I don’t want it.” he whispers, and sits down on the end of the bed.

“Don’t want what?”

“The control. There are so many wrong choices, the universe is so huge, I don’t want the responsibility.” More tears are blooming, and the anger’s gone, and now Dan is smaller, hunched-in, raw and open. Vulnerable. Scared. Phil doesn’t know what to say. He’s not entirely sure he understands, and he doesn’t want to make Dan explain.

“I’m sorry.” he tries, and Dan shakes his head and sort of laughs, watery from the tears but still hopelessly bitter.

“S’okay, go to bed.”

“No – Dan, I’m not just gonna leave you.”

“Please. Go to bed. Sorry for keeping you up.”

And Phil can tell there’s a lot of effort going into keeping his voice steady, and he can tell that Dan is begging him to leave so he can cry in private, and so he touches Dan’s shoulder, awkward but hopefully comforting, and he leaves and closes the door behind him.

The walls are too thin. He can still hear Dan crying.

* * *

“G’morning.”

Dan nods back, wordless, and that isn’t unusual in itself, because Dan never communicates properly before his first cup of coffee and they’ve kind of synched up by now, words not always necessary. That doesn’t mean Phil can’t notice all the wrongness. It’s half eleven, much later than usual, and Dan doesn’t look like he’s slept, not really, and his lips are bitten red and raw. He’s small, still but for the rhythmless tap of his fingers against the breakfast bar. Shirtless, bare feet, jogging bottoms slipping off narrow hips and revealing the brand of his boxers. Hair fluffed-up, messy. Eyes red, and he won’t meet Phil’s.

The kettle breaks the silence and the moment’s over. Phil looks back down at his laptop, prodding at Photoshop layers without actually paying any attention. There’s the clink of china, the rush of pouring liquid. The refrigerator opens, closes, repeats; there’s a rattle of cutlery, and then Dan’s padding over, stirring milk into a mug that was technically Phil’s at one point.

“What’chya’doing?” he asks, quiet, sipping at his coffee and wincing when it’s hot.

“Photoshopping sunglasses on a wombat.” Phil tells him, and pats the seat next to him even though Dan’s traditional seat is across the room. He won’t pretend there’s not worry and guilt in the offer, because he can’t get the little coughing, racking sobs of last two am out of his head, but it’s also because he knows what Dan wants. His eyes are pleading for casual affection,  _don’t mention last night just love me_ , and Phil thinks maybe he ought to mention last night, but he knows he won’t, and he may not be perfect but he wants Dan to be happy.

Dan sinks down perpendicular to Phil, leaning back against the arm and burrowing cold feet under Phil’s thigh. He stares out across Manchester’s skyline, coffee hugged to his chest, and the sun is bright in his face, and he has to blink.

“What for?” he asks, a couple minutes later, and enough time has elapsed that Phil has to take a second to understand what he’s asking.

“Maybe for a video, I dunno. Wanna see?”

Dan moves over, feet thumping to the floor, and he leans into Phil’s side to peer at the screen. The original picture is a chubby-faced wombat strutting through grass; Phil’s added big sunglasses and an empty speech bubble. Dan nods, and there’s an eyelash caught on his cheekbone, and he smells like the cinnamon candle he bought on a whim months before, the one he burns sometimes if he can’t sleep. There’s also the smell of the coffee, and there’s the light sheen of old sweat from being wound up in blankets. It’s not objectionable. How could it be? It’s Dan.

Phil wants to ask if he’s okay, but he doesn’t. Instead he lets Dan tuck his legs up and pillow his head on Phil’s shoulder, watch him fiddle with the wombat and edit part of a video. He’s silent and still for the most part, except to make soft humming noises when Phil asks him questions and to settle more comfortably into Phil’s side. He only really moves when he leans over to set the empty mug on the floor. His eyes are wide open, though, following Phil’s cursor and smiling when video-Phil makes an especially stupid face, and he’s open and relaxed against real-Phil, and Phil doesn’t understand but he’s grateful.

“You want lunch?” Phil asks, stretching, ages later. It’s long past noon, but hey, their schedules are permanently screwed anyway.

Dan wrinkles his nose. “Nah, not really.” He’s been dislodged by Phil’s movement, and he sits up entirely, the looseness in his limbs gone. “I should go have a shower and get dressed, shouldn’t I? Sorry.” He’s moving toward the door before Phil can tell him off for apologizing over nothing.

“Are you okay?” he calls after him, because it’s easier to ask the back of his head than his face, but Dan’s far enough down the hall that he can pretend not to hear, and he doesn’t even falter. A pinch of worry claws at Phil’s stomach, and he can’t help but start ticking things off in his head as he goes to wash out the mug Dan left on the floor. Fights with his family never leave him quiet, they leave him upset-pretending-to-be-pissed-off. He’d say existential crisis because of the thing he said last night about choice and the universe, but he thinks he knows what they look like by now and Dan seems too relaxed now. Something else is wrong, something triggered by last night, probably, and Phil wishes he knew Dan better, completely and totally, because they’ve only been friends for two years and that’s by far long enough to love Dan and be worried about him, but it’s not enough to recognize all the demons.

He’s been standing unmoving by the sink for too long, so he moves and puts the mug away, listening to the shower start running. Okay, so it could be nothing. Maybe Dan’s just mulling, coming to terms with being in charge of his own life, and Phil is being an unreasonable worrier. Phil is good at being an unreasonable worrier, so he tries to write it off on that, and then he decides that, like Dan, he’s an adult and he can do whatever he wants, so he clatters pans and makes macaroni from a box and eats it alone, sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. He hears his mum nagging at him to get down, and he ignores her. Liberating, to be an adult. He’s debating whether to do the dishes when Dan appears again, lazy-day hoodie and damp curly hair, blindly putting earrings in.

“D’you want macaroni?” Phil asks him, pointing at the stove. He takes the earrings as a good sign: Sad Dan never bothers with them. Dan shrugs, absentmindedly closes cupboard doors, joins him to sit on the side.

“What’re you doing today?” he asks. His fingers trace his lips, and he chews on a fingernail. Phil looks at the to-do whiteboard, like they ever actually use it. Dan’s drawn a cat across most of it, and the rest just lists  _Radio 1_  and  _pay rent_.

“Mm, I don’t know. Why?”

“No one’s expecting us anywhere, right?”

Phil thinks a second and shakes his head, and the relief that crumples across Dan’s face is overwhelming. “Thank god,” he says, and Phil worries again. He worries off and on the whole day, watching the little curled-up form on the other sofa, Dan’s face lit up by the light of his phone, absent and soft, and the day slips past without words spoken, and the next thing he knows, Phil is pulling the shades on the dark city.

“Night-chester.” he tells Dan, who’s been watching the ceiling for twenty minutes. “Budge over.”

Dan does, letting Phil sit down before arranging himself so he can have his head in Phil’s lap. “Hi,” he whispers, and his voice is raspy from disuse.

“Honest answer.” Phil says, trying to sound stern. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

Dan nods, nuzzling his face into Phil’s stomach, and that’s unusually affectionate even for them. “I’m okay.”

“What’s up?”

Dan shakes his head, fumbling for the hem of Phil’s shirt and clinging to it. “Nothing.”

“Last night?” Phil asks, awkward, unsure where he’s going, and he and Dan are bad at talking about feelings, which is unfortunate, because Dan’s an emotional person and Phil’s a worrier.

“What about it?” He’s as steely as he can be while clinging to Phil like a life buoy, but Phil soldiers on.

“Something’s wrong that’s not your dad.”

Dan nods, reluctantly.

“Wanna talk?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Not important.”

“What’s not important?”

Dan chokes out a laugh, and Phil wonders if he’s crying. He rolls back in Phil’s lap to look up at him, and his eyes are dry. “God, Philip, ‘s this the Inquisition?”

Phil doesn’t know what to say, and eventually goes with a muttered, “I’m  _worried_ , Dan, you were crying last night and you’re acting different now and I don’t think it’s your dad or the uni thing and I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Phil.” he says, and his tone is akin to something awestruck or wondering. “Why do you care so much about  _me_?”

“You’re my best friend and I love you,” Phil says, like it’s obvious, because it is.

Dan rolls back to hide his face in Phil’s stomach at that. “I love you too, you nerd, it’s just weird and I haven’t a clue how to explain it.”

“M’not going anywhere.”

“Phil – ” His voice is high, desperate.

“Start at the beginning.”

Dan sits up, shoving his hands across his face. “Sit on the floor with me?”

Phil isn’t sure why Dan’s asking, but he’s willing to do just about anything if it makes Dan more comfortable, so they sit in the middle of the dark lounge, cross-legged and facing each other, and Dan’s staring at the ceiling so they don’t make eye contact but it still feels intimate, the two of them still in the middle of the vortex of the rest of the world.

“Okay,” Dan whispers, “I – honesty hour, right? It’s just – I’m  _tired_ , Phil, tired of – ” He trails off. Shaky breath, hand raked through his hair. Phil can see the light from the Xbox reflected in his eyes.

“Tired of what?”

He twists his fingers. “I – okay. See, right now, I wanna say _oh god, fun times with Dan! let’s watch him struggle to articulate basic human emotion_. I wanna be self-deprecating and make you laugh. I’m always trying to be the – I’m always trying to be the loudest person in the room and it’s fucking exhausting and I hate it.”

Phil is silent, because he doesn’t want to interrupt, but Dan doesn’t seem to know what to say. “Dan, that’s not weird,” Phil says eventually, just to break the silence.

“No.” Dan says immediately. “No, it’s not, I’m insecure as fuck and I’m overcompensating. That’s not weird.”

“Then what is?”

Dan heaves another shaky breath and finally meets Phil’s eyes. “It kind of hit me last night. Like – I’m sure you heard, we were both practically screaming down the line – like, my dad and to some extent my mum want me to do something practical with my life. Okay, they said, not a lawyer, but there’s so much else you’re good at, find something you like and go back to school. And my position is no, like the whole uni experience sucked, not just – not just the law bit.” He laughs. “Sorry, I’m so off topic.”

“Don’t care.” Phil says, and Dan’s twisting his fingers together, fingernails scoring red lines and crescent moons across his fingers and palms, so Phil reaches over and takes one, holding it flat between both of his.

“Okay. So basically – even though I’m not at home anymore, I’m not fifteen anymore, they still want to – I don’t wanna say keep control over me – they still. They still want to make decisions for me, have some control over my life.”

“Yeah.” Phil knows most of this, knows or has guessed, but Dan’s going somewhere, untangling something in his head, and Phil doesn’t care if the road to their destination is Dan rambling for hours.

“And I don’t want that, obviously, so – so I said, it’s my life, I’m in control of it now. I make the decisions, I take the consequences, I’m a free independent citizen and I don’t need people taking care of me. So. Then I hang up and throw the phone across the room and yell at you – ”

“You didn’t yell at me.”

“ – irrelevant – and then I came to this sudden awful realization, oh shit, I actually am supposed to be in control of my life now. I’m in this massive pointless universe, and god knows what the meaning of life is, and I’m supposed to be making my own decisions when there are so many wrong choices and I don’t even know what all the choices are.” His cheeks are flushed now, the words spilling out. “That’s not right. I don’t know. I can’t describe it.”

“Existential crisis?” Phil asks, and Dan shakes his head and sniffles and clings onto his hand.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. It felt different. I’m not even to the part I want to talk about, Phil. You should probably bash me over the head with a toaster to shut me up.” He laughs, bitter. “Fuck. Just did it. I’m  _tired_  of having to be the loud one and the sarcastic one and the witty one. I’m  _tired_  of thinking  _quick make a joke or Phil’ll lose interest_.”

“So – ” Phil’s trying to comprehend, and he feels like Dan’s having two different conversations. “So you were quiet today because you’re tired of being loud? Or because you’re crisis-y over being in control of your own life.”

“Both. All of the above. Everything. I don’t wanna be in control, Phil, I don’t want to have to make decisions, I don’t want to talk or stay in the middle of things or be afraid about people hating me. I wanna be invisible. I wanna trust someone to – just – take care of me? I don’t know. It’s why I laid on you earlier and invaded your space, I’m so sorry, I don’t know, I just couldn’t help it. It felt safe. I’m done. I’m so weird and I’m the worst and I’m sorry and ugh.”

Phil has to crawl over and hug him, tight and hard and channeling all the reassurance he can muster. Dan is awkward hugging him back, arms uncertain around Phil’s neck, but he smiles a real smile when Phil sits back on his heels. “Feel better saying all that?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe. I said it all wrong, Phil, it wasn’t right but I don’t actually know what I’m thinking.”

“You can tell me again later if you want.”

“I’ll probably take you up on that.”

“You know I’ll always take care of you if you want.”

He blinks, once, twice, and then nestles himself back into Phil’s arms, face buried in Phil’s shirt so he can’t see his expression. “Yeah. It’s just neither of us are exactly hopeless romantics and you’re my best friend and I feel awkward saying,  _hey, bro, I have various insecurities and fears regarding control and also a deep-rooted desire to be cared for, can I be submissive as fuck while you cuddle me?_ ”

Phil has to laugh. “Hey, bro – okay, maybe not bro, that sounds wrong – Dan, I love you a lot, and unless you had someone else in mind, I’m perfectly willing to cuddle you if you want. Unless.” He stops. “Dan, when you say – am I accidentally getting in over my head?”

Dan laughs then, and Phil can feel the puff of air on his neck. “No. I’m not in this for the riding crops, I’m just – ‘s the only word I can think of, I don’t know.”

Phil kisses the top of his head, an overwhelming rush of affection for this Dan – this new Dan that is still the same Dan but seems different, more honest, more open – drowning all reason.

“D’you just kiss my hair?”

“It was there.” Phil says, because there’s really no good excuse for that and when has he ever needed an excuse with Dan?

“Okay.” He scoots back so they’re sitting face to face again. “I have a question.”

“Mm?”

“Why did we never turn a light on?”

Phil shrugs, and he and Dan have always been such good friends, and such physical friends, with the sleeping tangled-up in Phil’s bed and crying on each other during sad movies, but they’ve never really been romantic. He’s looked at Dan and been breathtaken by how goddamn pretty he is; he’s looked at Dan and been so overwhelmed with fondness and affection that he had to grab him and hug him and nuzzle into his neck while Dan yelped and complained, but he’s never looked at Dan and wanted to kiss him.

He wants to kiss him.

He’s not sure why, really, because it’s the same old Dan as ever, except more tired-looking, and a little tear-streaked, and smiling with lips so chewed-on they’re practically splitting apart. He has a spot on his chin he’ll hide with drugstore makeup when he films his next video. It’s dim in the room, what with the lights off and the curtains drawn, and Phil’s never really imagined romantically kissing someone in the light of the power buttons on their shared game console collection, but hey, it’s Dan.

“Can I kiss you, like, actually?” he asks, before he has time to actually consider the implications of his words. Dan’s eyes get wide, and his lips part a little, and he nods ever so slightly, so Phil leans forward and they end up kissing, kind of awkward and clumsy and sweet, in the light of the godforsaken game consoles. When they stop, red in the face because kissing your best friend without thinking is the sort of thing that makes you second-guess your life, they’re both kind of smiling, and Phil’s thrilled and Dan looks kind of blissful.

“That was not in my plan for honesty hour.” he says, exhaling with some certainty, and Phil’s suddenly nervous because _what the hell_ , “but Jesus Christ thank you.”

“Why’re you thanking me?”

“Because you make me happy.”

They smile at each other like idiots, and Phil considers how he should probably have seen this coming, because nothing Dan said was particularly out of the blue.

“Dan?” he says, and Dan blinks his acknowledgment. “I just wanna – all the things you said, are you asking? Like, you actually – I don’t want to be presumptuous, that’s – I don’t totally get it but I know it’s a lot of trust and I don’t wanna pressure you or anything.”

“I’m – if you want,” Dan says, and suddenly there’s a waver in his voice, nerves or stress or something. “Don’t feel pressured, it’s weird as fuck.”

“It’s not weird as fuck, c’mere.”

Dan crawls back into Phil’s arms, relaxing into him, and this time Phil holds him gently, softly, nose pressed into his sweet-smelling hair. After a minute, he hauls them both up and goes to unlock the sliding door to the balcony, because they don’t go out there often enough.

“Night-chester,” he says again, when they’re out in the cold and the city is sprawling and lit-up below them. Dan hums in agreement, and a second later Phil feels a tentative brush at his hand, and he easily twines their fingers together. They fit. They fit so easily, the two of them, and Phil’s oddly grateful for it, for the beautiful complementarity of their hands and their lives.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you know that?” he says, squeezing Dan’s hand.

“Same.” Dan’s voice is soft.

They don’t talk about the kiss, and they don’t talk about how their hands are loosely clasped between them, and Phil’s not really sure what it all means. It doesn’t really matter to him, what it means, because everything is drenched in trust and he knows they’ll figure it out.

* * *

What they end up being is comfortable, because it’s the twenty-first century and labels aren’t important anymore. They’re not quite boyfriends, because they don’t kiss and they sleep in separate rooms most of the time and they introduce themselves as friends and they don’t hold hands in public or tell anyone. But they’re something more than friends, because they lie curled up together for hours and talk about nothing, and Phil’s lips trace Dan’s cheekbone when he laughs and brush his hair when he cries. They know each other so completely that it’s kind of stunning and kind of beautiful, and Phil’s immensely grateful for it and he’s not sure how he deserves it.

They end up moving to London, and they joke they got too big for Manchester when they’re in and out of terrifying meetings with real-life professionals and their rent is so much more and their bank account is kind of terrifying empty a lot of the time. They buy cheap furniture from IKEA because it’s all they can afford, but Dan has a piano, and the kitchen and the lounge are separate rooms, and they go and get Oyster cards, and, like, it’s the  _same city as the freaking queen_. It’s like a roller coaster, really, because it’s amazing and thrilling when they’re not staring at each other thinking  _holy effing god we’re going to die_.

“Phil, you asshole,” Dan calls from the kitchen one Wednesday, and he has his hands on his hips like a nagging mother when Phil trots in.

“What?”

“We have a dishwasher for a reason, you know,” he says, and his tone is so bossy that it’s almost a shock. Phil blinks at him. He feels like he’s being baited, but he’s not really sure how.

“To look pretty?” he offers, and okay, maybe he promised to wash the breakfast things and they’re still piled haphazardly in the sink, but he’s been  _busy_ , he was gonna get to them  _eventually_.

“ _Phil_.” he says, two syllables, maybe a tiny bit Northern, and suddenly Phil gets it, and he can’t help but smile and flick Dan gently on the forehead.

“Fine, Daniel, boss me around, your slave will do the dishes.”

“Ow, Jesus Christ, my forehead, damn right you will.” Dan mutters, and goes to stalk out but ends up just leaning against the refrigerator, some uncertain half-smirk clinging to his lips, and Phil puts on a show of long-suffering eye rolls and put-upon expressions, because Dan’s shoulders are relaxed and his face is smoothed-out and he’s only in control because he wants to be, because he trusts Phil and it doesn’t matter. And twenty-four hours later, he’s tucked into Phil’s side watching their second Miyazaki film of the day, and he’s all bright eyes and soft smile, occasionally making meaningless murmuring noises to communicate, fingers softly tapping Phil’s arm with the cadence of the rain on the windowsill, and Phil’s can’t really imagine the time when he didn’t know every side of Dan. There used to be only one side of Dan, the act he still puts up for the cameras, and Phil’s grateful that act doesn’t include him anymore. The first Starbucks run they ever made, Dan was overflowing with excited extroversion and obvious nerves, laughing loudly in line as if to prove he was happy. These days he mostly leans into Phil and lets him do all the talking. He doesn’t have to prove he’s happy. He doesn’t have to drag out his emotions to wear on his sleeve. Phil just knows.

When their radio shows start becoming natural, Dan is loud and fast and witty, interrupting Phil and laughing at him when he does or says something stupid.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he says anxiously, watching Phil fumble with their stiff lock. He’s been waiting to say something ever since the studio door closed behind them, and it’s been almost painful to watch him mull it over.

“Mind what?” Phil says, pushing the door open. Dan’s close on his heels.

“That I’m always stepping all over you. It’s just – somehow that became the personality people expect. ‘s different in videos, that’s more acting, this is more real and I don’t want you to mind.” Dan closes the door, and the faint banter from the neighbor’s TV disappears, and his eyes are wide and concerned when he turns back.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Phil says, looping his arms around Dan’s shoulders. He’s been biting his lips again and there’s a new freckle under his right eye. Phil watches his face slowly relax, watches him release a long, shuddering breath. He buries his face in Phil’s neck, and it gives Phil the courage to continue. “If I were allowed to be cheesy, I’d say I was more proud of you than anything.”

“I’m so weird.” Dan mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re good weird.” Phil tells him. “You’re weird, but you’re good weird and I love you.”

“Love you too.” he whispers, so quietly that Phil barely catches it, and lets Phil lead him up the stairs, because Sunday nights have become the ones when they need each other most.  There’s a kind of ritual now, and Dan curls himself up on the sofa, and Phil can’t help but think of that Manchester day when they first started working at the puzzle that is them. Phil gets his laptop and comes back, flipping through his iTunes and editing their cuddling playlist, and Dan peers up and points at a Kanye album. It doesn’t really match the vibe, to be honest, but Phil adds a song from it at random anyway.

“Good?” he asks, quiet, because the only noises in the room are their breathing and the hum of the house, and Dan nods, so Phil hits play and slides the laptop onto the coffee table, and Dan shifts his head onto Phil’s lap so Phil can run his fingers through his hair.

“Is this friends?” Dan asks drowsily, after a long while, when Phil’s sunk down too and they’re wrapped up in each other and breathing in sync. “We have a cuddling playlist.”

“That is kind of gross.” Phil says, because they have a  _cuddling playlist_. “I dunno.”

Dan’s asleep. It doesn’t really matter.

* * *

Martyn stops by unannounced one Saturday, just because he’s in London, and he fills up the doorway with his lanky frame and calls Phil  _bro_.

“I’ve missed you,” Phil says, after they’ve done the sweet-but-kind-of-awkward brother hug thing and Martyn’s clapped him on the back. “Are you staying? D’you want some tea? – actually, I don’t remember if we have any, I’ll have to check. Is Cornelia in your pocket?”

Martyn is laughing at him, hands up a little in a subtle gesture of surrender. “Not long, I can’t stay long, Cornelia’s not in my pocket but she’d probably fit. I’m fine, thanks – hey, Dan, what’s up?”

Dan is hovering on the bottom step, clearly wondering if he’s welcome at this brotherly reunion. He smiles and waves, and his hair’s fallen a little bit in his eyes. Phil’s tempted to brush it away, but he doesn’t, because Martyn’s here, and their casual touching thing evaporates somehow when any third party is involved.

But Martyn’s family, even if Phil doesn’t see him as often as he’d like and Dan barely sees him at all, and so Phil ends up sitting quite a lot closer to Dan than he probably would if it were nearly anybody else. They sit at the table and play board games, because it’s chez Dan and Phil and honestly Phil doesn’t know how you could have anybody over without playing some kind of game. Martyn kind of coughs in shock when he sees their board game collection in the bookcase.

“That’s impressive,” he says, squatting down to skim a finger over the obscure titles. “That’s so many, how are you going to divide them up when you move out?”

“You should see our mugs,” Phil says, because he doesn’t want to think about moving out. He wonders if that’s a thing that normal flatmates think about all the time, because it never really crosses his mind. All his daydreams for the future include Dan, even the ones with real houses with mortgages and adopting hypoallergenic cats.

Martyn goes for Scrabble, because he claims it’s the only one he’s heard of, but Phil didn’t exactly expect him to choose Game of Thrones or one of the Japanese ones, so it’s fine. He pretends to be annoyed that both Dan and Martyn drum their fingers obnoxiously while they sort tiles, but he’s not, really, because it’s like family, shared quirks, like his three aunties who cram onto the same settee and all blink too much and complain about the economy and forget that their MP from the seventies isn’t still in office. He is kind of annoyed that he’s so bad at Scrabble, and Martyn refuses to let him cheat, and they bicker until Dan wins by a ridiculous margin.

“Sorry,” he says with a touch of a smile, adding the points up even though it’s unnecessary, and his eyes flicker to Phil’s with a strange and genuine vulnerability.

“Shut up, don’t rub it in,” Phil tells him, but he keeps his eyes gentle because that’s what separates friendly banter from bullying in his book. Dan laughs and sweeps his hand across the board, scattering tiles.

Martyn has to leave when the streetlights come to life in the street below and none of them can ignore how late it is. They kind of linger in the hallway, and Phil wishes he saw his family more, even if he already sees them enough to be grateful for.

“Bye,” Dan says, hands shoved in jeans pockets and shoulders back like he’s trying to be cool, and Martyn goes for the hug. Phil can see the surprise in Dan’s face over Martyn’s shoulder, but Dan fumbles his hands out of his pockets and hugs him back. “Have a safe trip,” he adds, a little red in the face, when they’ve let go, and then he shuffles respectfully off to let them say goodbye. Phil walks Martyn down to the door, where he proceeds to lean on the doorframe and smirk like the world’s worst older brother.

“So when’s the wedding and am I best man?”

Phil is momentarily puzzled. Then he’s red in the face and remembering why he was pleased when Martyn moved out. “No – it’s not – friends, Martyn, friends. Good friends, but  _friends_.”

“Okay.” Martyn says, teasingly skeptical. “Just – ” and he looks serious now, and maybe wondering. “Pardon-my-French-but-Mum’s-not-here, you’re so fucking protective. And I swear Dan stares at you more than I stare at Cornelia, and Cornelia’s gorgeous, and you’re only all right.”

“Hey.” Phil says, and he’s blushing harder than he thought possible, like someone’s pouring boiling water into his face and neck.

“All right, all right, I’m done.” He claps Phil on the back, but apparently it’s vital that he throw in a wink. “See you at Christmas.”

And Phil barely has time to hug him goodbye before he’s bounding off down the stairs and probably chortling to himself like the awful person he is.

“What is it?” Dan asks when Phil gets back upstairs, probably still completely flustered and red in the face, and he has to shake his head.

“Martyn being stupid,” he says, and Dan lets it go with that.

“He’s really cool,” he says, a bit quiet, and Phil has to remember what limited contact Dan and Martyn actually have. They can’t have seen each other irl more than a few times. “He – he seems like a really good older brother.”

“He’s alright.” Phil says, and then he had to tackle Dan to the sofa in a hug because he’s fond of him. “You’re a fine brother, Dan, don’t get insecure on me.”

“Should I call him or something?” His voice is a bit muffled, but his hands have kind of lightly curled themselves into the back of Phil’s shirt, so Phil doesn’t feel the need to immediately jump off and apologize for attacking him.

“If you want.” Phil rolls off him so he has the opportunity to breathe or call or whatever.

Dan takes a breath, blinks, moves on. “Dinner? Anime?”

Phil lets it go.

* * *

Dan goes home for his dad’s birthday, and he won’t admit he’s nervous before he leaves, but when he comes home he’s much happier.

“I think maybe things are patched up,” he admits from his perch on the countertop watching Phil make midnight Indian food.

“Really?” Phil asks, not because he’s skeptical, exactly, but because Dan’s never had a good relationship with his parents, not for the whole time Phil’s known him.

“Maybe. I think maybe they’re starting to rethink how unsuccessful I am? And now I’m all moved out and grown up, I think – I think they’re starting to respect that I make my own choices? I don’t know. It’s probably good we don’t have all that much contact. But maybe it’s getting better. Y’know? It’s a start.”

“It’s a start.” Phil has to smile at him, caught-in-the-rain curly-haired Dan sitting on the counter even though there’s no room for him. “Taste?”

Dan accepts the proffered spoon, and his eyebrows fly up because it’s the extra-spicy curry and maybe Phil should have warned him. “Ow. Eleven out of ten, um, dragon entities of pure fire and hatred.”

“Sorry.”

“S’good.” He slides off the counter to find water. “Would you hate me if I said I was going out again tomorrow? I met some old old friends at the train station coming back and they made me promise to meet up with them.”

“Just as long as you keep paying the rent even if you never technically live here.”

“Promise I won’t withdraw all my money from our  _shared bank account_.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dan laughs through a mouthful of water, coughing it out over his chin, and Phil falls in love all over again.

* * *

When Dan gets back, it’s latish, and he yells a hello and Phil wonders if he’s drunk. He thumps down the stairs, and Dan’s locking the door, and the landing smells like alcohol but Dan’s eyes are clear.

“Phil,” he says, and the smile on his face isn’t neon, it’s soft and understated. Phil hugs him. “Mmph. Hello.”

“Pathetic that I missed you?” He lets go. Dan’s hair is mussed, his cheeks bright, half-smiling.

“Nah. Missed you too. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t have a good time, because I did. It was really nice. ‘s just nice to come home too.”

His words are trailing off.

“I have to ask if you’re drunk, Dan, everything smells like cheap liquor.”

“I’m not drunk,” he says, fixing his hair with quick, jerky motions. “Swear to god, Phil, I think I’ve gone places. They’re all stuck in dead-end careers drinking the same horrible cider we bought in 2008. I thought I was the one who dropped out of uni.”

He yawns a little, vaguely catlike, and lets Phil take his hand and pull him up the stairs.

“It’s ‘cause you’re amazing.” Phil tells him, because he’s just as inexplicably proud of Dan as he always is. They’ve reached the hall, and they pause there, wrapped up in some comfortable silence, and Dan’s blinking sleepily. “You’re tired.” he says, and Dan laughs softly and squeezes his hand before letting go.

“A bit.”

They pretend for a few minutes that they’re going to have a perfectly average night as platonic flatmates, but it’s a surprise to no one when they end up in Phil’s bed, curled so tightly together that Phil can’t really tell where he ends and Dan begins. Everything’s soft and warm and wonderful, and Dan’s phone is playing something sweet and acoustic that Phil can hardly hear, but Dan’s whispering the lyrics into his shoulder and that’s more than enough.

After a while, when the music’s run its course and faded out like the tide, Dan untangles himself and rolls onto his back, heaving a sigh so deep that it sounds like it pulls at his lungs. His splayed fingers run through his messy hair; his mouth opens a little and closes again, uncertain, determined, uncertain.

“What?” Phil wants to pull him back, but he’s afraid that if he does, Dan won’t talk.

“Can I stay?” There’s something vulnerable in his eyes, something tense in his shoulders that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Obviously.” Phil tells him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, slips out of bed to strip off shirt and jeans and socks, making a neat pile in the corner of the room. “Nothing’s wrong.” He burrows back into the duvet and Phil’s arms, shameless in his boxers. “Just. Thank you.”

“For what?” Phil’s still fully dressed, but he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to leave.

He doesn’t answer. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Dan’s leg brushes his like he’s going to twist them back together again, but then he pushes Phil away. “Go, pyjamas, you’re uncomfortable to cuddle in jeans.”

* * *

In the morning, Phil’s woken by too-bright sun and Dan’s lips on his neck.

“Mm?”

“Wake up, moron.”

“Mm, you’re kissing me.” This is a rare enough occurrence that Phil’s forced to sit up and pay attention, fumbling for glasses and blinking himself awake.

“Phil?” Dan’s steeled for something, sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets like he’s been up already, and Phil’s concerned.

“What’sa’matter?”

“I’ve been thinking.” he says, and Phil doesn’t know what to make of those three words. “Mostly since last night but also for ages. Like, I don’t know, it hit me last night? But I didn’t know how to say it, so I didn’t.”

“Spit it out,” Phil says, confused, alarmed, and waking up faster than he expected to.

“Just. I want us to be permanent. Not that’s we’re  _not_ , right now, but – like, I love you and you get me and I want to say _yeah, this is Phil, this is my boyfriend_. And I want to tell Gran and maybe I want to marry you – like, not right now, but when we’re real adults – and – y’know? But if you don’t, like, that’s okay too, obviously I like this how it is, but – ”

“Shh.” Phil says, because he looks like he’s panicking. He can’t help but grab one of Dan’s gesticulating hands out of the air and squeeze it. “No, I think I want that too.”

And Dan relaxes dramatically, the tightness in his limbs melting away. “Okay. Good. Sorry for waking you up.”

“Why couldn’t you just  _wait?_ ” Phil mumbles, pulling at Dan’s hand until he tumbles forward on top of him.

“I’d already been pacing for ages, I wanted you to wake up. I don’t know why that was scary.”

“Me neither.”

“Love me.”

“Always.” Phil tangles his fingers into Dan’s hair, reveling in the softness of first-day curls. “You wanna be my real proper boyfriend, already-mostly-my-boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

And then they’re boyfriends, not because they need a label, but because they want one, because it feels safe and it feels lovely. They tell their parents, with all the proper ceremony of holding hands on the doorstep, and Dan’s grandma cries. “You take care of him,” she tells Phil vehemently, and Phil’s overwhelmed.

“I will.” he says. “Of course I will.”

“He always does,” Dan says, with a sideways smile. And Phil’s been head-over-heels in love for so long now that this new cascade of adoration doesn’t even make him blink.


End file.
